Not That I'm Counting
by xooxu
Summary: The fourth time we met, he was drunk. And at my apartment. Which, at least in my opinion, is a very, very odd combination. -ConMont, 1 of 4-


**Some ConMont, because we all know that's exactly what this fandom needed. **

**This was ghost-posted by my friend DesdemonaKakalose on deviantArt, which is why I stole her summary (mine was way lame). I was going to just not post it on FanFiction (at least not til I was 18), but I thought to hell with it, it really isn't that mature. (My parents have issues with some of what I write, so that's what that is all about.)**

**So yeah. Enjoy some ConMont. XD  
**

**Part one of four.**

**

* * *

**

The first time we met, I'd have to say that the circumstances were probably … less than ideal.

First of all, it was at Worth's. I've learned that very little good comes out of that third door down in the alley. Or near. Or really within a three block radius.

Secondly, I was _starving_. I've always had trouble keeping up with my health, even before I died. Eating just came second to work, or reading, or friends (when there were some) or whatever else just happened to be on my mind. Now that there was less of a gradient of my appetite—I was either _famished_ or fine—it was a little more difficult to keep tabs. Not to mention I had to go to _Worth_ to get food. Ugh.

And third, I was here, pissed off, and really? _Now_ just happened to be when Worth decided he needed some action? God.

Of course I didn't really stay and get to know the guy. In fact, I was probably only in his presence about as long as it take to say, "Jesus motherfuckin' Christ, sorry!" before I was right back out in the alley.

But still. I did see Lamont Toucey. Quite a lot of him, actually.

**&break&**

The second time I ran into him, it was … well, awkward. Whad'ya expect?

It was at Worth's (again) and I was hungry (again) and therefore, pissed off (again, and I'm starting to see the beginning of a pattern, here).

However, the predicament … erm … It was kinda backwards.

Not that I hated the doctor any less than I had the first time we'd met, but it… I mean, we both could benefit from this (me in the obvious, life-sustaining ways, and Worth … well, in the _Worth_ ways). Maybe the sex was going a _tad_ bit beyond impersonal, but jeez, sorry if that little whine Worth let out every time I bit him was kind of _hot_ or if he did literally _beg_ for it and fuck, we were already crossing some lines, so why not, right?

It was to the point that I was getting pretty comfortable with my role, and the gracelessness of our earliest encounters was all but gone. At that particular second, we were on top of his desk and my mouth was at his neck, with a smaller wound on his wrist already, and my hand down the front of his ridiculous tight pants when somebody walked in. I seriously almost didn't stop: I was that hungry and the blood tasted that good. But I reluctantly pulled away—though, too lazy to remove my hand from his pants—and wiped the trail of blood from the corner of my mouth (with the hand that wasn't wrist deep where god knows what else had been, too, obviously), and looked back at the door. Worth let out a very audible groan and lifted his head up, too.

I tried to keep my mind on the _already bleeding_ Worth, who was yelling at the man to _go the fuck away_, he'd deal with him later. But really, the scent of something new, pooling beneath flushed and blushing skin, was too much to ignore. And it smelled fucking _delicious_. The man himself wasn't really all that unattractive either, somewhat tall, dark hair and eyes, exotic features (Italian?) with a bandage on his right cheek, until I realized that he looked kind of familiar, especially with that startled, bashful look on his face, and then I placed it, and then he just pissed me the _fuck_ off.

He was shocked for a moment, then apologized, but his eyes looked straight at me, then trailed down to my hand still in Worth's pants, and had I been feeling more courteous, I would have removed it, but seeing as how I was pretty much just plain pissed, I didn't. I just watched as he caught himself looking, and how his eyes jumped back to me briefly, before he excused himself with a comment to Worth about _later_, and left, and then Worth said _finally_, and I didn't say anything, just thought about how irate thoughts of that goddamn man festered under my skin and how I may or may not have taken some of them out on Worth's throat. But Worth definitely didn't mind as his head dropped back and his hips bucked into my still hand and a content little _fuck_ left his lips.

**&break&**

It's the third time we met that things began a change in pace.

I was in the company of Hanna and his creepy zombie pal (and seriously, what is up with _them_?) in some bar. Hanna invited me; he mentioned that he'd invited other people I knew, and that it would at least be a break from my apartment. So here I was, the first one there besides Hanna and "Georgie" since I'd been informed of these plans at my doorstep maybe twenty minutes before—and if that was some clever ruse on Hanna's part to make sure I came along, which I don't doubt, then he's a lot scarier than I thought.

It was the same bar we had met at before, when Hanna had been the middle man for my blood, and it was just as empty as it had been that night. He's talking about something (I can't even remember what), when _he_ walks in. And my mouth. Fucking. _Dropped_.

I tried to tell myself that it was obviously coincidence, that just because Worth knew somebody, Hanna wasn't automatically their best friend. But then, oh god, Hanna called out _Lamont_, and the guy looked. And oh shit.

He started this way and then he noticed at me, and there's an audible _oh_.

Oh shit shit.

But then he kinda smiled and it didn't reach his eyes, and I knew I had to be blushing—fuck being dead—as I looked away.

_Don'tmentionitdon'tmentionitdon'tmentionitdon'tmentionitdon'tfuckingmen-_

"Well hi," he says. "Didn't think I'd see you again."

Oh. _Shit_.

"You two already know each other?" Hanna asked.

I chance a look at him, and it looks like he's have the fucking time of his life as he says, "Not by name, no. But hi, I'm Lamont Toucey."

And honestly? He's quite charming, but I can't burn the image of him staring at my hand down Worth's pants from my head, so I kinda fumble over my name with a bit of a (wimpy on my part, firm on his) hand-shake, and I'm surprised he wants to touch my hand at all. And when Hanna asks how, Lamont just calmly answers with a vague _at Worth's_, but I appreciate the vagueness in this situation. It's enough to satisfy Hanna as he moves on to other things.

And more people showed up: the werewolf girl, _Toni, was it?_; and the creepy guy with huge green eyes, Veser, I remember, and that really was, unlike Hanna, too young to be there, but the bartender didn't check. And it was a good time, yeah, but every time Lamont and I met eyes, he would kinda smile and it would catch me off guard, and I would have to look away quickly.

Apparently, this bar does have a fast hour, 'cause it filled up quickly sometime around twelve, and suddenly there were too many people too close, and I was hungrier than I thought, so I said _I'll be right back_ and just left.

I found a side exit, and the fresh air really was refreshing. Not like it was _good_ or anything, but there was more space and less people (no one, in fact), so I slumped against the wall and sighed an unnecessary breath. I don't really remember how long I was out there—maybe a minute, maybe fifteen—before the door opened again.

And it's Lamont. What the _fuck_?

I stood up straight, kinda startled, and then there was this limbo of awkward silence where we both raced to find something to say.

And Lamont won that race as he asks, "You, uh, okay?" And it was really sincere, I could tell, but unsure. I just sighed and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess. Better, at least."

"You claustrophobic?"

I knew the word well from my childhood, and it makes me laugh a little. "No, no. Not really, but my mom thought I was: tested for it by six different psychiatrists." And I was somewhat surprised that I just said that.

And I think he was surprised too, but it didn't appear to bother him. Actually, it looked like he might have appreciated it. "Then, like, what?"

I contemplate telling him, and that makes me laugh outright, before just waving it off with a little _it's nothing, really_. "Just needed some air."

It was a silence, again, but less awkward, as we both leaned back against the wall.

"Soooo … you and Worth?"

And for some reason, it didn't upset me nearly as much as I was certain it would. "So _you_ and Worth," I counter. I look over at him, and something tells me that his smile is really earnest—if a little timid (and maybe a little cute)—this time, and that he's no where near offended.

"How'd you know?"

"Same way you do."

"When?"

"Does it matter? A time you two had sex at Worth's."

Now he was really interested. In what, however, I had no clue. "So then … you bit him?"

And it's his blase tone, the _oh really? _in his voice, that catches me off guard. "I … yeah, y'know." There was a short, yet uncomfortable pause._"Did."_

And something that I said or about this conversation was just so goddamn funny to him. Hysterical, in fact.

I bite my lip as I watch him laugh: bent over, lower back still to the wall, with his arms around his midsection, shaking a little with the deep, rich laughter spilling from him. When he composed himself and stood back up straight, he looked right at me. He still had a big goofy smile, but it was different. He was different. And maybe he was a little tipsy, because suddenly we were really close, and he was really close, and had we always been that close? But it's not close enough, apparently, as he turned toward me, and inclined his head slightly and then somehow we were maybe an inch apart and it was pretty fucking easy to be that close.

Almost like breathing.

His lips touched mine, and I had no idea who it was that moved (maybe both of us), and it was nice and soft and _almost nothing_, but then I realized what the _fuck _we were doing, and I jumped back.

He was startled a little, of course, but for a different reason, and we kinda looked at each other before I left: just walked away from him and the others and the bar and that alley.

**&break&**

The fourth time we met, he was drunk. And at my apartment. Which, at least in my opinion, is a very, _very_ odd combination.

I'm still a little unsure about how he found my address.

But he sure as hell found it, and when I open the door at three o'clock in the morning, there Lamont is: shitfaced and flushed. I don't say anything, because I've got no clue what to say, until finally he smiles really fucking wide and says _hi_ like it's the sexiest word in the world.

And wow. It kind of was.

It had been about two weeks since the bar and the kiss and I was still a little confused about it all. I mean, yes, I thought about him and his lips and that smile, but I hadn't heard from him or about him at all. Only Hanna asked where I had gone to that night, and I answered with a vampire excuse—which is kind of the truth—so it was all but forgotten by everyone except me.

And apparently Lamont.

_Uh, hi, Lamont._ I realized he was no longer looking at my face; instead his eyes were trailing down my body, so I bent down to catch his lidded gaze. "Can I help you?"

Somehow his smile widened, and, I had to admit, he was still pretty cute, even this drunk. I stood back up again and tried to keep his stare on my eyes, or at least my face ('cause he may or may not have just looked at my lips). "Jus' in th'neighborhood. Tho' I'd drop by," he slurred as he leaned into my doorframe with a lot of purpose and slinked his hand up above his head to grab a hold of the structure.

Yes, he was still _very_ cute.

I laughed a little and somewhat nervously, shifting on my feat and leaning slightly into the door. "How drunk _are_ you?"

"Mmmm … dunno." He was leaning in again as he rested his head against the wood of the frame. "'Nuff t'decide t'come here." And by this point, he was very blatantly staring at my lips, which cause me to bite them automatically. I watched his eyes darken with want.

Suddenly, the wall behind him was pretty goddamn interesting. "Well, I think I should just call someone to pick you … uh …" When the hell did he get seriously maybe an inch away from my face, and so close that I could smell the liquor on his breath and, more importantly, _feel_ the blood pumping at an accelerated rate? _Lamont …?_

"Mhhh?" he sighed contently. His eyes were back on mine. God. They practically screamed sex. And now it was my turn to be distracted by his lips, slightly open, slowly inhaling and exhaling warmly against my skin.

"I, uh, mmfh …!" He surprised me with a kiss, much more forceful than the last time due to the alcohol. His eyes were now closed, and then so were mine, and when did he actually enter my apartment? But I didn't care as he wrapped his arms around my back and kicked the door closed and somehow we found (tripped on) the couch, and then he was on top of me with his tongue in my mouth and somehow, oh my _god_, he manages to cut his tongue on my fang, and that was just heaven. I moaned a little at the taste of blood and liquor, and he hissed a little at the pain, but I guess he was so drunk it barely hurt, because he didn't stop kissing me.

And wow, it was so different—better—than being with Worth. He was strong and forceful and in charge, and his hand woven in my hair jerked my head back and his lips on my throat (_ohhhh fuck, Lamont_) that tried to please—elicit moans, whines, _sound_—even in their drunken state instead of just being pleased were so nice ... so unlike Worth.

I tugged on the collar of his shirt, since I was unable to really find the buttons, and he got the message as he pulled back from my neck to start drunkenly undo buttons. I watched his fingers awkwardly fumble with the holes, and slowly more and more skin became visible and just wow. He had a light amount of chest hair, and a scar across his chest, but it fit him—was even pretty sexy—and his skin was this clear olive tone. When he finally gets all the buttons undone, he just leaves it on and unbuttoned and that for some reason is just _soo_ fucking sexy to me so I kiss him again and actually fight with him for control.

And he moans at my tongue in his mouth and one hand tangles in my hair, and the other slide up my shirt, sliding over my pale abdomen and down my sides. Then he pulled back and leaned up, so that his bottom lip barely brushed clumsily against my ear, and breathed the _motherfucking_ sexiest sentence I think I've ever heard.

_M'wanna fuck you._

And he did.

The sheets of my bed were cool under me, and he was burning hot on top of me after we finished, and I was noticeably sore, and maybe the way my head was bending against the headboard was somewhat awkward, but I really don't think I'd ever felt that good in my life. We were both tired and he was breathing heavily, and I could hear his heart thundering as he rolled off of me.

It was almost five now, and the sky was already graying with the oncoming dawn if the light easing out from behind my blackout curtains was anything to go by, and then suddenly I was awake with Lamont's arms wrapped around me. I listened to the even deepness of his breath as I opened my eyes to the beige of my walls.

A mumbled and lazy _hey…_ floated my way and I rolled over in his arms, noticing how naked both of us were. I looked at him: his eyes weren't quite open yet, still half closed with sleep, and there was a warm (sexy) little smile across his mouth, which said _good morning_.

I can't help but smile.

"I don't know whether I should feel guilty for seducing an inebriated man or violated for being seduced."

His smile cracks wider into a small chuckle. "Are you always this negative?"

I closed my eyes and smile a little. "Only in the mornings. Shouldn't you be feeling a massive hangover right about now?"

**&break&**

The fifth time actually involved a real conversation. Progress.

It was about three days later, and it seemed that Lamont had no intention of letting me forget him.

After he had left that day, I began regretting letting him into my apartment. I barely knew him. We'd shared about twenty sentences between us, and I still had no clue what we were. I'd had one night stands before, but this felt different.

His number was on my phone, which meant that he had stolen it some time during the seven hours he was there—which included the four I was asleep—to input the number. What did that tell me? He wanted me to call, but why? He was up for another night? He wanted to go out sometime?

… He was into phone sex?

The confusion caused by its placement made me hesitant to actually dial it. I knew I was either over-thinking or under-thinking all of this.

But now that he was again at my door step, I sort of regret not _trying_.

He was much more composed and a _lot_ less drunk. I also happened to notice his clothes were far nicer than I remembered seeing him in before.

He looked at me and his eyebrows both went up and I could see him fighting back a laugh. It was one pm, and it was pretty bright out. Therefore, I was drained, and had been in bed just moments before. He took in my hair (disheveled) and attire (loose t-shirt and boxers), before saying a chuckled, "Uh, hi."

_Hi_.

A beat.

Two.

"Oh, come on in," I said, finally, to kill the awkward beast of silence between us. I step back from the door and let him in. "Sorry 'bout the clothes. Just woke up."

He was about two steps in and apparently not going any farther as I closed the door. "Do want some, uh … water? I don't think I've got much."

"No, I'm fine."

There's another silence.

"You never called?" I can't tell if he's unsure.

"Yeah. I mean … God, I don't fuckin' know." I sigh a bit, before plopping myself down on my couch.

He gives me this insincere half-smile that almost offends me after seeing his wide grins and warm, laughing smiles. "Is that the first time I've heard you curse?"

As if to make up for his pathetic little smirk, my face nearly breaks in two when I smile. "You were really wasted that night, weren't you?"

Images of us on my bed and me arcing my back and clawing at the sheets, words _I_ didn't even know I knew flying from my mouth flashed across probably both our minds.

_Oh._ I like this grin better. It's sheepish and charming. _Yeah_.

"What are we?"

He looks at me, and I can't quite place his look. It's … not really surprised and not really appalled and not really angry and not really … _anything_.

"What are you?" he counters. And something hits me that he probably knew about my vampirism the whole time. I mean, he'd had walked in on me fang deep in Worth's neck and _didn't_ freaked out. Not to mention his lack of response to me cutting his tongue.

_A fucking vampire,_ I bite back, playing with a picture frame that sits idly on my side-table. My patience is surprisingly thin and I'm very tired and in need of a blood bag. I haven't been to Worth's in four days, mainly because I didn't want to chance running into Lamont there. "If you _apparently_ already knew, why did you come at one in the fuckin' afternoon?"

"You know, you don't hide it very well. You bite your lip _all _the time." He's still standing by the door, but his smirk is full of humor and he's leaning against the wall. "Which, don't get me wrong, it's really sexy, but shows off that little pearly white poker you've got yourself."

"Look," I sigh, sliding my glasses off to rub at the headache forming between my eyes, "we've met maybe only five times, and before that night, I'd spent like maybe four hours with you. That's fucking fantastic for a one-time thing, but one-time things don't involve you putting your number in my phone and showing up three days later. So …" I put my glasses back on and look at him, "what are we?"

"You're hungry, aren't you?"

I groan, flopping my head down into the arm rest. "You're a pain in the ass," I kinda-sorta answer, but don't say anything else.

"Worth said you hadn't been over since that night." I heard him rustling around, so I peaked up at him from the corner of my eye to see him holding out a blood bag. He waved it around and I unconsciously sat up, watching the red liquid slosh around inside the clear medical pouch intently. Everything about him—his relaxed shoulders, the smile in his eyes, the way he leaned back, the small back and forth movement of blood bag—said loud and clear _come and get it_. "I'd offer you my neck, but that shit hurts. I'm not Worth."

Sighing, I pick myself up and drag myself tiredly over to where the scent of week-old blood is slowly filling up the room. I reach out to grab the bag that Lamont is dangling, but, instead, as soon as my hand gets close, Lamont grabs my wrist and pulls me close. The kiss is nice and I only fight it for a second. Something about Lamont's arms around me, blood bag still gripped in one hand wound around my waist, relaxes me, makes me lean in and run my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and kiss back.

It's slow and gentle and _wow_, how many kinds of kisses can a guy give? So different from that night, or even the night at the bar, and eventually Lamont pulls back for air that I don't need, but I give him some space. He pulls farther back into the wall and looks at me with a deep smirk and hooded eyes before dangling the blood two inches from my nose. I grab it and take a step back, unsure what to do, so I bite into the bag. I grimace at the cold blood, pulling back instantly, and Lamont laughs loudly at the action. But before I can turn around to go fetch a mug and heat it up, Lamont grabs me by the wrist again.

"And to answer your question?"

He grins wide and sincere and would I ever really get used to that?

_Who gives a fuck?_


End file.
